


To Soothe the Savage Beast

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE forever and ever amen, M/M, dysfunctional much?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Harry finds what he has most certainly not been looking for. Again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 4





	To Soothe the Savage Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sajmalfoy13 in the 2010 Serpentine Lion Glompfest.

The dimly lit pub was...well. Dimly lit, and that was pretty much the best that could be said about it. Or perhaps there might be other things that might be said about it, but Harry was too damned drunk to come up with one. He hadn't started out that way, but the bartender had been nice, not to mention generous. Perhaps not 'nice' as much as able to convey an adequate amount of sympathy through a series of well-timed grunts. 

Several hours after he'd walked in, Harry looked around and furrowed his brow mightily. 

"Hey--," he tried, but no one heeded his summons. He made another attempt.

"Hey, mate?" 

"Ngh," the bartender said with what Harry interpreted as interest. "Mac."

"Nah, I'm Harry," he said with a belated headshake. 

The bartender paused and gave him an unimpressed eyebrow. "Me, I'm Mac. _You're_ pissed."

Harry giggled crookedly. Err. rather, he chuckled manfully and took the last non-existent drink from his pint. 

"Naaah," he tried again with what he hoped was a winning grin. "One more?"

"Driving?" Mac asked.

"No car," Harry said definitively. "Kn-- Cab."

Mac snorted, the poured him another.

"You're a lifesaver, mate."

Mac paused and stared hard at Harry.

"...Mac?"

"Mmm," he said and passed Harry the beer. 

Harry took it, took a long pull, and sighed.

Then he remembered why he had called the bartender over to begin with.

"Oi, ma-- err, Mac. When'd it get so dark?"

Mac didn't bother looking at him. "Go find an almanac." 

"In the pub," Harry tried again.

"Piano's on."

Harry followed the barest indication from Mac towards what appeared to be a small conflagration. Then he focused with a little more intent and realized it was a small bank of (contained) candlelight. 

"Oh," he said to the empty space where Mac had been standing. 

Harry must have been staring at the candles on the piano for quite some time because he could swear that he recognized the slender blond taking a seat on the piano bench.

"Oh," he repeated to himself. "Wh--" 

Figuring that he must be drunk indeed if Draco Malfoy was playing piano in a pub in Muggle London, Harry also figured that gave him leave to continue staring all he wanted. 

The Muggle who was clearly not Draco Malfoy proceeded to crack his fingers, fuss over the placement of his drink, toss aside the rose in the vase on the piano and produce an orchid out of seemingly nowhere to the delighted tittering and polite applause of the ladies nearest to the piano.

"Yes, thank you. I _am_ very impressive," said the pianist with a smirk, and settled in to the opening notes of a standard Harry knew enough to know that he should know, but didn't. Harry blinked angrily and took a vicious swig from his pint; Imaginary Malfoy had no call to be showing up at his pity party, the bastard. 

He decided to tell that Imaginary Malfoy off for having done, and as such, was halfway to the piano before any sort of alarm bell began sounding the call for reason. It didn't do any good, but there it was. He stuck his drink out, extending a pointing finger around the glass, and opened his mouth just as Imaginary Malfoy did the same.

_"Birds flying high, you know how I feel--"_

Harry's mouth snapped shut. Imaginary Malfoy hadn't even noticed him, eyes closed as they were while he sang quietly, steadily. Head cleared a bit by the clear tones of the sweet song that the pianist was weaving into a scene of bittersweet defiance, Harry instead took a step back into the shadows and leaned against the wall. Listening. 

That Malfoy was not imaginary at all. Harry had no idea the prat could sing in public like that, but that was definitely him. 

Silken notes wafted from the glossy piano with ease and Harry let his head settle back against the wall, eyes shut. The song ended and another began but it was the same story; survivor music; loss and love, tragedy and triumph that still tasted a little like tragedy all came pouring out of Malfoy's very being, and Harry was dumbfounded. 

He hadn't noticed when the music stopped, but he definitely noticed when quite a bit of something cold and clearly very alcoholic splashed his face and chest. Harry sputtered and pawed at it in confusion, finally wiping enough vodka out of his eye in time to see Malfoy's retreating figure and pair it to his angry growl.

"Get out of my pub, Potter," said Malfoy. Harry tugged his sodden shirt away from his chest in vain.

"And don't come back."

###

Harry blew off dinner with the Weasley twins to come back to the pub the next evening, though to be fair, he had intended to do so anyway. This time he sat quietly at the bar and nursed the same beer through the whole first piano set. Mac shot a questioning eyebrow at him once and then said nothing, not even in his flawless Universal Barkeep Grunt.

"Nursing a hangover," said Harry unnecessarily. Mac did not seem to be listening, much less caring. "How, erm. How long has that bloke been playing here?" 

Mac paused to eye Harry again. "Not long."

"You know him?" asked Harry, not sure what he was looking for, but stalking Malfoy was habit by now.

"Keeps to himself," said Mac, then pointedly moved away and out of conversation range. 

He couldn't keep from cracking a sardonic smile when Malfoy closed with "Call Me Irresponsible", but the smile was gone the moment Malfoy took a bow and headed backstage, unerringly chucking another drink on Harry as he walked past. 

###

The third night, Harry didn't bother to go to the bar proper, he just slunk into the club just as Malfoy's set began, and lurked about the darkest edges until Malfoy closed with that song Harry would always associate with that American film about... something Hermione had wanted to see. 

Even though Harry managed to be at the complete opposite end of the club, Malfoy still managed to toss a drink on him on his way out.

"Get Out, Potter," said Malfoy, deigning to cast a sideways look of disgust and what almost looked like hurt at Harry. 

"Malf--" Harry started, but Malfoy cut him off.

"Leave me the hell alone. No telling when the next one won't be alcohol."

Harry scowled at Malfoy's back for as long as he could keep his eyes on him. 

###

Harry couldn't have said what kept him coming back to Malfoy's pub. He knew he shouldn't; that Malfoy had always been a load of trouble he didn't need; trouble that hadn't been abated by the year since Voldemort's defeat. The rumpled and haunted Malfoy busily looking shocked that the Ministry had not condemned him to death or Azkaban was a far cry from the aloof musician at the piano, but fundamentally, nothing had changed. 

He stayed away the fourth night but was on time for the piano set the night after, and the night after that, each evening wondering what Malfoy was up to and always ending up splashed with something cold. 

The vodka facials were getting old, but watching Malfoy was not.

###

Nearly two weeks had passed since he'd found Malfoy in that pub too grotty to be elegant and too respectable to be considered seedy; an odd contradiction that suited Harry rather well. He might have actually come back to it even if he hadn't unexpectedly found himself stalking Draco Malfoy again, former golden child and Malfoy family heir turned pub pianist. Mac was no more or less talkative than he had been to begin with and never commented on Harry's inevitable bath.

The song set ended and while the crowd applauded, Harry drained his drink and waited for it. His eyes surreptitiously tracked Malfoy heading in his direction; this time Harry was prepared. 

Without warning, Harry was on his feet, Malfoy's wrist in his hand. 

"No more, Malfoy," he said with forced cheer. "I like this shirt."

Malfoy glared at Harry, twisting his wrist in exactly the right move to escape the hold. His free hand drifted to his pocket where his wand should be. 

"How dare you tou--"

"Everything alright," declared Mac from no more than two feet away; a decree as opposed to a question.

"Oh yes," agreed Harry, dropping Malfoy's wrist. "We go way back."

Malfoy did not stop glaring at Harry. 

"Why are you here, Potter?"

"I like the music," Harry said with a scowl. "And Mac is a fantastic conversationalist."

"Leave me the hell out of it," grumbled Mac as he walked as far away as he could manage.

Malfoy crossed his arms and cast a glance around at the few curious onlookers that were tuned in to their conversation. "I'm not going back."

"I wasn't here to retrieve you," Harry said too quickly.

"I can't stand the way they look at me," Malfoy ran over Harry's statement, then backpedaled. "I can't stand the sight of them. Any of them. Especially not you."

Harry shrugged theatrically. "So you're going to play piano in a Mu--sty pub forever after. Why should I care?"

"Then why in the name of Salazar are you here?" asked Malfoy, pale cheeks beginning to color visibly.

"I told you," said Harry, feigning annoyance in order to avoid answering the same question he kept asking himself. "I needed a drink. Stayed for the music."

"Stop following me, you lunatic!" Malfoy leaned in and all but hissed. 

"Stop chucking drinks at me, you spoiled little shit!" Harry hissed right back, lowering his voice even further. 

Quite unexpectedly, Malfoy snaked a hand around the back of Harry's neck and kissed him hard, and Harry kissed him right back with urgency, already reaching for Malfoy's waist. He faintly heard the catcalls and whistles around them, but he didn't give a damn. Everyone else just needed to stay far, far away for as long as--

"That!" declared Malfoy, pulling away as suddenly as he had closed in. "I needed to stop doing that, for the sake of what is left of my own sanity."

"What?," said Harry without relinquishing his grip. "Why?"

"Because you're unkempt, ignorant and boorish, I consistently find myself plotting to murder your friends and because you and that same lot of imbeciles and Gryffindors are the only ones that will actually associate with me," spat Malfoy. "My life is a shambles and it's your fault. And I find myself doing this. With you."

Harry cocked an incredulous eyebrow at Malfoy. "Yeah, well, you're a right bastard and a drama queen to boot, and if you weren't such a conceited shit, you might actually find things to like about those imbeciles and Gryffindors. And I don't see you walking away."

Malfoy made a token effort to tug away, but Harry didn't let him go. To compensate, Malfoy stared petulantly over his left shoulder and squared his jaw.

"How many times are we going to do this before you realize..."

Harry trailed off and Malfoy shot him a sideways glare. 

"Realize what?"

"That I'm always going to end up coming to find you." Harry snorted a laugh. "It's a bit creepy how easy it's gotten."

Malfoy gradually relaxed against Harry, and Harry took what felt like his first breath in years.

"Can we go now?" groused Malfoy, never one to spout platitudes or discuss feelings. He'd said what he was going to say for the moment.

"Where to?" asked Harry. It was a loaded question; Grimmauld with an unpredictable riot of Gryffindors? The tiny flat Malfoy let? Somewhere else? Hadn't that all been part of the problem to begin with?

"My place. I-- found a new one."

"Oh," said Harry, wondering not for the first time if he'd made the right choice. "Sure you want me in it?"

"No," said Malfoy. "But you're coming anyway."

Harry rolled his eyes sideways. 

"Great. Bloody fantastic."

"Fine, yes," Malfoy said with feigned annoyance. "And not just because you're pathetic." He disentangled himself deftly and turned to go, but Harry grabbed his wrist again.

"What?" 

Harry smirked at him. "I didn't know you could sing like that." 

"Right." Malfoy paused, eyes on Harry's mouth for a moment too long. "Pay closer attention." He started again for the door.

"Malfoy," said Harry with another tug to his wrist. This time Malfoy didn't bother saying anything when he turned to face Harry-- he just glared.

"Where'd you learn those songs?"

"Err--," he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Can we talk about this later? Perhaps never?"

Harry advanced on him, his faint smile becoming more predatory. 

"I'm afraid I need an answer, Malfoy. You owe it to me."

Malfoy backed away, effortlessly making his way between tables and directly into the crashbar at the back door.

"I don't owe you a damn thing," he said, just before disappearing around the heavy door. Harry sprinted out in pursuit and was immediately shoved against the wall, pinned by Malfoy's body against his own. "It isn't my fault you take such joy in following me around."

Harry growled and shoved, rolling him aside until their positions were reversed. His mouth descended on the column of Malfoy's throat, planting sloppy, increasingly needy kisses wherever he could. The fingers of the hand that Malfoy was not using to retrieve his wand threaded through his hair, and Harry was definitely ready to be elsewhere.

"Go," he rumbled. Harry had two weeks to make up for and nowhere to be until he did. There was no telling how many times Malfoy was going to bug out and run off again, but Harry did know one thing-- he was broken enough that he would indeed always go looking. If there was one thing the war had taught him, it was stubborn perseverance in the face of near-certain doom. 

"Stop looking at me like that," Malfoy said, though surely he wasn't even fooling himself, the way his back was arching away from the wall to bring himself more fully in contact with Harry. 

Of course, the war had also taught Harry the importance of shagging like there was no tomorrow, which might explain a lot about how this thing with Malfoy and him got started to begin with. Still, no point in dwelling. 

Harry popped the top button of Malfoy's trousers and grinned. "Hmm? How?"

Malfoy pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's chest as though he might curse him, tapping with every word for emphasis.

"This. Is deeply disturbing." 

He managed to finish the Apparation incantation just as Harry's mouth crashed onto his, and they disappeared from sight like that, a study in opposites tangled into a single heap.

Mac grunted from the doorway where he had arrived just in time to see it happen, and with an unsurprised shrug, he went back to work.


End file.
